


Two Boys

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, mhunter10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey slow down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Boys

Mickey and Ian are lying in his bed, shoulder to shoulder because it’s a twin for a tween which means you’re too young to have someone else in it next to you. But there Ian is. No, they haven’t just finished fucking or are about to. They just found themselves there after a shift when no one else was home, and it’s weird, yeah, but you can’t notice you’re alone if all you hear is your ragid breaths in each other’s ears. It’s getting to be evening, but they haven’t turned any of the lights on in the house. The last of the sun is the only thing casting Mickey’s room in semi orange darkness, and yet he can still make out Ian’s unique shade of hair. In fact, the freckles on his neck and arms look even more intense for some crazy reason; his eyes extra green. And, oh yeah, they’ve been staring at each other. Not the whole time, but for most of it. Just glancing became bullshit, so they started looking for the other to say what the actual fuck was going on there. Neither had an answer, so they waited for who would say it with their face first. Ian gave Mickey a lazy smile, bending his knee up to rest on Mickey’s leg more comfortably. Mickey’s hand brushed along his thigh, and it wasn’t one of those fake moves someone does when they want to touch you. You know? It had a deliberant subtlety. Ian turns his head to the wall, almost like he can’t look when his hand finds Mickey’s. If I don’t watch it happen, it can still happen and I won’t know if it was okay or not until I feel his fingers curl loosely around mine. Like he means it. And it’s not a mistake when Mickey lets their hands do what they’re doing. Maybe the room will sink lower into the dark, so he doesn’t have to endure Ian’s face when he yawns but tries to keep his eyes on Mickey so he doesn’t miss how he’s not biting or chewing his lip like he’s unsure of anything at all between them right now. He looks silly, but it’s so Ian. So, Gallagher. Mickey’s calluses feel rough against Ian’s own; chads of picked-at skin meeting healed tough patches. Mickey is rough around the edges maybe, and Ian’s got a thick layer for every time he’s been hurt. Ian made Mickey’s hands bleed once, fucking him while angry at whatever it is that festers at him until it comes out like a roaring lion when he forgets to double check the latch on its cage. They’d scabed over by the time he was back to his usual self, but Mickey didn’t forget the scar tissue he’d left underneath. Mickey’s thumb drags across the tiny soft hairs, and Ian’s fingers cover inked letters that meant something some time ago perhaps. Their fingers tap, twine, flex, curve, hands dancing or playing slowly and methodically, lifting and pulling and coming together, stretching above them in the dark room. Their pale skin glowing like a flare from the Titanic. Or a beacon away from the iceberg. Mickey lets their hands fall on his chest and stay still so they can pulse along with his heart that almost goes with Ian when he pulls away and says he has to get home. But nothing will feel as warm and comfortable and filled with a sense of ease after this moment after work where two boys held hands for the first time. And Mickey’s face at his window as Ian walked away said not the last.


End file.
